


What Friends Do

by mmouse15



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-23
Updated: 2008-06-23
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmouse15/pseuds/mmouse15
Summary: How a friendship is built. Fluffy, angsty, and fun.





	What Friends Do

Title: What Friends Do  
By: mmouse15  
Pairing: JazzxProwl  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: None, really. Fluff?

A/N: This is a birthday gift for vejiraziel. Happy Birthday, sweetie! I hope you enjoy.

 

The meeting was breaking up. Jazz hung back, waiting for the room to clear. As he had expected, Prowl was still sorting through his datapads and had remained seated. As he finished gathering the pads, Jazz spoke up.  
"Hey, Prowl, how'd you like to get some energon?"  
Prowl's head jerked up in surprise. "Ah, Jazz, No, I thank you; I need to compile these reports. Have a pleasant evening." Gathering up the last of his pads, he left the room. Jazz let his head fall back against the chair. It never failed. Prowl just didn't operate like other mechs. He rarely took Jazz up on his offers, either for energon or for spending time together. Jazz's fingers tightened into a fist, which he then thunked against his forehead. What was he to do? He was powerfully attracted to the tactician, but hinting wasn't working.  
Wait an astrosecond. Hadn't he just thought that Prowl wasn't like other mechs? Then why was he trying to treat Prowl like any other mech? Because he was a thrice-damned fool it seemed. Nodding to himself, Jazz finally rose and exited the room.

With a heavy venting of air, Prowl laid the datapads neatly on his desk. Every time Jazz made these offers to spend time with him, Prowl would feel his main pump stutter. It was difficult to turn him down, but Prowl just couldn't imagine that Jazz really wanted to spend time with him. The saboteur was just being nice. Prowl buried his face in his hands. If only he wasn't attracted to the Porsche it would be easier to refuse. He dropped his hands and forced his attention back on his work.

Jazz bopped into the recreation room, moving to the beat of the music he had on his stereo. He exchanged greetings with various mechs on his way to the energon dispenser. He filled two cubes then headed for the exit. Trailbreaker filled the doorway on his way in just as Jazz reached the door. He quirked an optic ridge at the two cubes.  
"Hungry tonight, Jazz?"  
Jazz laughed and subspaced the cubes, "Nah. I'm taking one to Prowl. We've got some unfinished business."  
"Uh huh. Finally making a move?"  
Jazz grinned up at him, unabashed. "Just…changing tactics, 'Breaker."  
Trailbreaker clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Well, good luck, Jazz."  
"Thanks, 'Breaker. I think I'll need it."

Prowl raised his head as his door chime sounded. "Enter," he said, and then looked at Jazz in surprise as the saboteur entered his office. "Jazz? Was there something you forgot from the meeting?"  
"Nah." Jazz sat down in the chair across the desk from Prowl, settling his frame comfortably, then pulling two cubes out of subspace. He pushed one across the desk to Prowl and sipped at the other. "You don't take care of yourself, Prowl. Have some energon."  
Prowl slowly took the cube and sipped from it. He looked at Jazz thoughtfully. "What's this about, Jazz?"  
The Porsche looked back innocently. "Nothing, Prowl. Can't a friend spend time with you?"  
Prowl settled back in his chair and looked at Jazz. "Are we friends?"  
"Aren't we?"  
"I would have described us more as comrades."  
"Yes, but you are not a mech to push the boundaries, so you'll always take a conservative view of any situation."  
Prowl smiled to himself. He did enjoy the repartee inherent in dealing with Jazz.  
"Ah, so if you consider me a friend, and I consider you a comrade, where does that leave us?"  
Jazz grinned. "As friends, of course."  
Prowl laughed, "Alright…friend…why are you here?"  
"Do I need a reason?"  
"No, but knowing you as I do, you have some purpose in being here other than bringing me energon."  
Jazz reached into his subspace and pulled out a small piece of paper. Prowl recognized it as a human letter.  
"Well, Prowl, I've got an invitation here for myself and one other mech to go to the opera for a festive showing of _Die Meistersinger von Nuremberg_. Not an opera that's your style, maybe, but I thought you'd enjoy it. Would you like to go?"  
Prowl was surprised and he knew his surprise was showing. He had been intrigued by the opera company's choice and their plans for showing the opera, but he had not expected to be able to see the performance and had put it out of his processor. To be offered the chance was unexpected, but…  
"I would enjoy going with you, Jazz."  
"Great! I'll let them know. Thanks, Prowl!" Jazz disposed of his empty cube and bounced to his peds, a huge grin breaking across his face. He reached across the desk and squeezed Prowl's hand, then exited the tactician's office.  
Prowl felt his main pump stop momentarily, the restart at a faster pace. The touch of Jazz's hand on his own was overwhelming. Prowl bowed his head and reached for control. Finally regaining it, he disposed of his own empty cube and turned back to his work.

Jazz leaned against the wall once he'd left Prowl's office. He had succeeded in getting Prowl to spend time with him outside of meetings, battles or strategy sessions. This was progress.

 

The opera had been fun. They'd chosen to stage the production outside, with the chorus doing a parade in the long intermission between Acts II and III. Prowl had enjoyed the professional demeanor of the chorus as they marched around the amphitheater, and Jazz had simply enjoyed watching Prowl. The outdoor venue was the reason the Autobots were able to attend, and Prowl was surprised to see how many were attending. He and Jazz, but also Blaster, Mirage, Hound, Sunstreaker, Brawn and Bluestreak were in attendance. He had enjoyed the performance, giving thought that perhaps the Autobots should take a page from Hans Sachs and re-think their paradigm. Now he was enjoying his trip back to the Ark. Jazz had chosen not to go directly back, but headed east from the city and then south by lesser roads. He and Prowl were quietly enjoying the journey back. The quiet was not unexpected – good music usually evoked thought and the time to absorb oneself in thought was cherished by both mechs. Jazz smiled to himself. This was another success in his quest to spend time with Prowl.  
Prowl's thoughts mirrored Jazz's. This had been enjoyable. The music was wonderful, the performance excellent, the company pleasant – Prowl was beginning to see why Jazz delighted in human culture so often.

As time went on, both mechs continued to spend time with each other. Prowl easily acknowledged Jazz as his friend and didn't spend too much time wishing for more than friendship. Jazz, on the other hand, continued his quest to have Prowl as more than a friend. One day, he returned from a covert mission muddy, wet, tired and slightly cranky. He dripped his way down the hallways of the Ark to Prowl's office to give his report.  
"Enter." Came Prowl's quiet voice at his knock.  
Prowl looked up and commented, "Jazz. You look…tired. How did it go?"  
Jazz flopped into a chair and growled. "Badly. There had been something there, but it's gone. There was mud everywhere which makes it fragging hard to not leave traces of my presence. Bumblebee got hit by a rock that tumbled down the slope because the rain had loosened it; this was not one of my more successful missions."  
Prowl regarded him thoughtfully, then pulled out a cube of energon and passed it to Jazz.  
"Here. You look like you need this."  
"I can't take your evening ration, Prowl."  
Prowl held up a hand to stop any further protests. "You are not. I got that for you. Mine is here." And so saying, he pulled out another cube and sipped at it.  
Jazz looked at the cube in his hand, then back at Prowl. "Why?"  
Prowl smiled at him, and Jazz felt a thrill go through his systems at that smile. Prowl replied, "Because that's what friends do."

Due to routine maintenance in the offices, Prowl and Jazz were in the rec. room, playing a strategy game that was a favorite of Prowl's but not of Jazz. Sparkplug came over to watch, and chuckled when Jazz had to surrender his last fighting piece and play defensive moves only. Jazz snorted, retorting, "Haven't you got something better to do with your time, Sparkplug?"  
"Oh, no, Jazz, watching you actually lose at something is a highlight for me."  
"It's tough playing this game against Prowl. It plays to his strengths." Jazz informed him.  
Sparkplug moved to the other side of the table and yelled across the room, "Hey Smoky! D'ya have one of those decks of cards Spike made for you guys?"  
"Sure, Sparkplug, I've got a couple of them." Smokescreen rose and came over, pulling a large stack of cardboard from his subspace. "What do you need them for?"  
The man accepted the large stack and turned to Jazz and Prowl. "Gentlemen, I'm going to teach you a game that uses strategy but has a large place for luck. Have you ever heard of poker?"  
Prowl and Jazz looked at each other, and by mutual consent removed their game board to learn this new game.

"The look you gave me!" Jazz danced down the hall, laughing at Prowl on the way back to their quarters.  
"I can not believe how much luck is involved in that game. I had all the cards I needed!" Prowl told him.  
"Yeah, but I drew the cards I needed, and my full house beat your straight." Jazz gloated.  
Prowl shook his head, finally joining in the laughter. "At least we've found a game that plays to both our strengths. That was fun."  
"Yeah, it was. Thanks, Prowl."  
"You're welcome, Jazz."

After the first poker game, Prowl kept in the forefront of his processor that Jazz was more fun to be around when he won some games, and thus they mixed up the games played much more often, sometimes playing games that Jazz chose, other times playing Prowl's favorites, and usually ending with a hand or two of poker to even the odds out.

"Bluestreak, can you take out Thundercracker? His sonics are really hurting us right now." Prowl spoke over the comm line as First Aid did a rapid patch job on the hole in his leg.  
"I can try, Prowl." Came the answer.  
"Good. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ironhide and his group are having problems with Bruticus, can you disengage?"  
"Sure Prowl, we're on it."  
The chatter of a battle was always calmed Prowl, centering and focus his processor as nothing else could, and he actually enjoyed the times when he was wounded and could direct his attention to the battle as a whole and be an effective general.  
"There, Prowl, finished. Take it easy, would you, because this patch is not going to hold. I'd say you're out of the fight this time." First Aid finished and moved to the next wounded 'bot.  
Prowl agreed absently, his attention still on the battle. He accepted a databurst from Optimus, who was directing the battle in another section that Prowl couldn't see, due to the hilly terrain they were fighting in. A sudden squawk of noise startled him momentarily, but he forced his attention back to the battle.  
"Ratchet! We need you right now!" Optimus' voice boomed over the lines.  
"On my way, Prime!" The medic's voice showed that he, too, had caught the urgency implied in Optimus' internal voice.

The battle finally over, the Decepticons had been stymied in their attempt to steal energy, and Prowl was looking over the damage reports when he felt his pump stop. Jazz was injured? Jazz was the one Optimus had called Ratchet for? Jazz? He realized his fingers had curled so tightly against the edge of the desk that he had bent the metal to the shape of his fingers. Cycling air in quickly to cool his systems, Prowl released the desk and stood, moving toward the door, intent on getting the medbay as quickly as he possibly could.  
When he entered the chaotic medbay, Prowl immediately looked for, and found, his friend. Ratchet was no longer working on him, and Jazz appeared to be in stasis. The medic looked up and noticing Prowl, send him a quick data burst – Jazz was fine, he'd taken a pretty bad hit from an energy weapon, he was in stasis to let his self-repair systems work, he'd be brought back on-line this evening. Prowl nodded his thanks and left.

That evening, Prowl returned to the medbay, now much quieter and more ordered. Jazz was the only mech remaining, and the medbay was empty. The tactician pulled up a chair by the saboteur's repair berth and pulled out a datapad of poetry. He glanced at his friend, but Jazz appeared to still be in stasis, so Prowl quickly moved to a bookmarked page of the datapad and began to read aloud.

_the high towers, the moving rivers_  
Sparkling in the light.  
My Spark beats your name, 

"Do ya hear it?" Jazz's raspy vocalizer finished the poem. Prowl started.  
"I thought you were…"  
"In stasis? I was. Ratchet pulled me out so my systems could reset while he refueled, and then we could work on recalibrating."  
"Oh." Prowl fidgeted, embarrassed to be caught with one of his poetry volumes. He did not share his love of poetry with many people, since few appreciated the subtle and myriad meanings of the best Cybertronian poetry.  
Jazz grinned weakly. "I love poetry. I only found out about it after I joined the Autobots, and I didn't know anyone else liked it. Would you read more?"  
Prowl felt a sense of warmth start in his spark and move through his systems, bringing a sense of joy to his processor. Finally, something he and the saboteur shared equally. He resettled himself and began to read.

Jazz was on his berth, leaning against the wall reading a datapad he'd borrowed from Prowl when his door chimed. He got up and answered it, surprised to see the tactician on the other side. He stepped aside and motioned the Datsun into the room. The saboteur waved him to the only chair in the room, then reclaimed his perch on the berth. He looked at Prowl, astonished to see his optics shuttered and his hands clenched on the arms of the chair.  
"Prowl?"  
At the sound of his voice, Prowl started and his optics snapped on. He gave Jazz a weak smile, then dropped his head into his hands. Concerned, Jazz moved off the berth closer to him and touched Prowl's shoulder. The Datsun jumped up and moved away from him, starting to pace. Jazz slowly straightened and asked hesitantly, "Prowl? What's wrong?"  
Prowl huffed air then turned and looked at Jazz.  
"Where are you going with this?"  
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Going with what?"  
Prowl gestured between them, "This…friendship thing of yours. Where are you going with it? What are you trying to accomplish?"  
Jazz was silent for several moments, looking straight at Prowl. He then moved forward and Prowl skittered away from him. He stopped, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender.  
"I'm not trying to accomplish anything except be friends with you. A better question to my mind would be what's got you so spooked, Prowl?"  
Prowl gazed at him, then looked at the floor. "When…when I went to the rec. room tonight, I heard Smokescreen taking bets on how much longer it was going to take you to get me to interface with you."  
Jazz growled, then backed away until he was against the wall opposite Prowl.  
"And you thought that our friendship was nothing but a setup, the result of a cheap bet that would strip away your dignity and authority. But at least you came and asked me, because that's what friends do, right?"  
Prowl nodded.  
"Well, Prowl, I won't lie to you. I do want to interface with you. But I don't know if you feel the same way about me, so I'm going to choose to be happy with just being your friend. At least that way I get to spend time doing enjoyable things with you. Everybody around here with working optics knows I have feelings for you. But Smoky's betting pool? It doesn't have any sanction from me. You matter more to me than any bet." Jazz paused, then continued, "You matter more to me than almost anything."  
Prowl stared at him for a long while, then again looked away. "I need…I need to think about this. I don't know what to do."  
"Take your time, Prowl. I'll be here, waiting for you."  
Prowl nodded slowly, then moved to the door. He stopped and Jazz waited fearfully. "I just don't know, Jazz. Can you understand that?"  
Quietly Jazz replied, "Yes, Prowl, I can understand. I hope you understand how important you are to me."  
Prowl again nodded, then exited. Jazz dropped to his berth, already mourning his loss.

Several weeks later

"This meeting is adjourned. Jazz, would you please remain to finalize the plans for this operation you've proposed?"  
Jazz dropped back in his chair, saying, "Sure, Prowl." He pulled his datapad back out of his subspace, preparing to defend his operation.  
Prowl waited until the room had cleared, then moved to the chair next to Jazz, who launched into this defense, "Now, Prowl, I know that…"  
"Stop." Jazz did, surprised.  
"I think your operation is a fine idea. I wanted to talk to you, and you've been avoiding me."  
The saboteur shrugged one shoulder, looking away from the tactician. Prowl put his hand palm up on the table. "Jazz?"  
Jazz sighed. "Look, Prowl, it's just hard. I'm trying to give you the space you need, and when I'm around you, I just…want to be with you, do the things I’m used to doing with you."  
Prowl slid his hand over and nudged Jazz's arm. The saboteur looked at his hand, then carefully placed his own hand into Prowl's.  
"I have decided that your friendship is very important to me. I have…missed you." The tactician cycled air heavily, then continued, "I don't know if I can…be more, but I would like to continue spending time with you."  
Jazz twined his fingers with Prowl's then looked over at him. "I can live with that, Prowl."  
"And Jazz?"  
"Yeah?"  
"For the record, I've found that I've missed your touch."  
Jazz chuckled weakly and gently squeezed Prowl's fingers. "I've missed touching you. I think we can fix both problems, hm?"  
Prowl laughed, "Yes, I think we can."  
"Hey, the symphony's doing a lawn performance of Beethoven's Sixth on Friday. We can experience a storm that doesn't have any mud. Wanna go? With me?"  
"I'd love to go with you."


End file.
